


This love is alive, back from the dead.

by Wholicity



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wholicity/pseuds/Wholicity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by Tumblr user lindsay-a-kellner:<br/>"you can break my soul, take my life away. Beat me, hurt me, kill me. But for the love of god don’t hurt her”</p>
            </blockquote>





	This love is alive, back from the dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, be gentle. This is my first attempt at fanfiction, ever.  
> Here are the songs I listened to whilst writing this:  
> This Love- Taylor Swift (1989)  
> Clean- Taylor Swift (1989)  
> Wildest Dreams- Taylor Swift (1989)  
> Hope you like!

It had been a quiet night in the Foundry. Diggle and Oliver were sparring, loudly, and shirtless while Felicity pretended to be very busy behind her computer and most certainly not watching the two shirtless men she now considered two of the most important people in her life.

Crime rates were down in the city and frankly, Felicity was bored. She had already spent more than an hour looking up pictures of funny cats on Buzzfeed. She felt her eyes start to water and glanced at her phone for the time. 10:30. 

Felicity walked over to the training mats and spoke as soon as the men stopped their routine sparring. “Guys, I’m gonna head out. I don’t have anything more to do and I’m really tired.”

“Allright, I’m gonna head home too.” said John, “It’s getting late and Lyla hasn’t been getting much sleep what with Sara waking up every two hours screeching. I mean, holy crap, I thought babies were supposed to sleep all the time. Anyway, good night Oliver. Good night Felicity”, he said with a gentle pat on the amused blonde’s shoulder. Poor Lyla. 

She turned to Oliver and gave him a soft smile. “You should go home, get some sleep, Oliver. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
He looked at her and she could see the exhaustion in his eyes.  
Finally, he sighed and said “I will. Maybe I should drive you, it’s late, I need you to get home safe.”  
Felicity looked at his tired face before replying, “No, no you go home. My apartment is only 10 minutes away. I’ll be fine.”  
“Okay, Goodnight Felicity", He said, giving in to his exhaustion.  
She smiled at him before walking over to her desk to shut down her computers. She grabbed her bag and said a last goodnight to Oliver before exiting into Verdant’s parking lot. 

It was only a Friday, and since Thea had only recently reopened Verdant, the place was buzzing with party music and it was probably busier than ever. It took her a couple of minutes before she finally spotted her white Fiat 500. Sighing, she opened her purse to dig for her car keys. Just as she was about to pull out the keys, she heard footsteps coming up behind her.  
“Hey, Oliver, maybe it wasn’t such a bad Idea for Thea to reopen the cl—“, she started to say, but before she could finish, a hand slammed onto her mouth.  
Not Oliver, definitely not Oliver. She tried to scream but all that resonated in the outstretched parking lot was definitely not gonna be heard by anyone. The definitely-not-Oliver’s-hand lifted off her mouth for a split second before turning her to face him before replacing his right hand with his left.  
“Hello, Felicity Smoak. It’s nice to finally meet the woman who Mr. Queens’ heart belongs to. This will be fun, oh yes, it most definitely will be.”  
____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Oliver walked out into the quiet—safe for the buzz of music coming from his sister’s club—night. Crime rates were down in the city, so he’d spent consecutive days just working out or sparring with Diggle in the Foundry. It was eleven and he was tired. He’s only recently started sleeping for more than 4 hours a night and it was, refreshing. He felt, almost, relaxed. The nightmares would only show up every other night or so and he was glad. As his car comes into view, he notices Felicity’s car is still here. She had left about ten minutes before he did, so surely she would already be on her way home. A twinge of worry in his gut, he walks towards the driver’s side and finds her car keys lying on the ground. He bends down to pick them up and peers around. “Felicity!” he tries, acutely aware she wouldn’t be randomly walking around the parking lot at eleven o’ clock at night.  
She wasn’t here. Panic sets in. He pulls out his cell phone and dials Felicity’s number before he decides to do anything too drastic, surely she must have forgotten something inside or decided to go for a drink before she left.......but she had been tired.  
When she doesn’t pick up the second time around, he runs back to the club. He uses the GPS tracker in her phone to find her location.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________

20 minutes later he’s all suited up and walking into an old abandoned building right on the outskirts of the Glades. Someone had taken her. Bow in hand, he starts walking through the main hallway of a small hospital that was abandoned after the leveling of the Glades. There are dirty, broken hospital beds everywhere. Scalpels and stethoscopes and other instruments he can’t identify strewn across the grimy floor.  
As he nears the east wing of the building, he hears a man’s voice. He can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but as he gets closer, he hears Felicity’s terrified voice—“What do you want? Why are you doing this?”  
She’s scared. Or hurt. Or both. 

As he rounds the corner of the room the voices are coming from, he assesses the situation. Felicity’s hand are bound and she is hanging from some sort of pole going across the ceiling horizontally. His eyes dart to the man. Tall, about 250 pounds, one hand holding a knife to Felicity’s throat and the other holding a gun.  
“Let her go.” He demands, using his Arrow voice. Both heads snap up to him standing in the doorway, bow and arrow positioned.

“Ah, Oliver Queen is it? Or should I say ‘The Arrow’? Nice of you to finally show up.” He says as he points his gun back at Felicity. In a swift move, he drags the knife across her collarbone.  
She hisses and he sees a little blood trickle onto the white shirt she’s wearing.  
“Do not touch her. I will not hesitate to kill you”, he says, his voice hard.  
“Ah, but aren’t your days of killing over? At least, that’s what I heard. And Ms. Smoak, my sincerest apologies, this has not much at all to do with you, you’re only collateral damage, dear. It just happens you’re the best way to hurt Mr. Queen, according to Mr. Wilson, of course.”

Oliver pales at the mention of that name. 

“What do you mean?”, he demands, ”Slade Wilson is locked up. For good. Somewhere he won’t ever get out.“  
“Oh don’t worry Mr. Queen, Mr. Wilson is still locked up. I just happen to work for A.R.G.U.S. I’m the underpaid trash who goes down to Lian Yu to bring necessities to Mr. Wilson every once in a blue moon and we just got to know each other a bit. A whole lot actually.”  
“So what, he sent you to torture her, for what? It’s over. It’s over.”—Oliver’s desperate voice rings through the room.

“It is not over. It isn’t over until you’ve suffered enough.” 

Slade’s lapdog turns back to Felicity and nicks the top of her ear.  
She lets out a strangles scream. It is the worst sound he’s ever heard.  
“Stop! You don’t have to do this.”  
“Oh but I do, you see Mr. Queen, torturing this young woman in front of your eyes is cause for much more suffering than simply shooting you and ending your misery.”  
He turns around and places the knife firmly against her throat before continuing—“On second thought, watching her die might be even more painful than simply torturing her.” He turns his head to gauge Oliver’s reaction, and flashes him a triumphant smirk. 

“NO—no, you can break my soul, take my life. Beat me, hurt me, kill me, but please, for the love of god, don’t hurt her.” 

Felicity’s head snaps up at his words. So much pain and desperation in his voice. Oliver. Oliver, the man who was tortured on an island. Oliver, the man who lost everything and everyone important to him one by one. All she wanted was to hug his pain away. His guilt. His nightmares. He had already told her he loved her. But they had walked away from that. They couldn’t be together. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to keep her safe. Unhurt. And she had understood his intentions to an extent. But she loved him. She did. So much. She loved him more than anything. And she didn’t want to die without telling him. Telling him how important and beautiful and loved and needed he is. How all his mistakes are outweighed by his heroic actions. She had always thought of him as a hero. He was one. He spent so much time helping people, and doing the right thing. He was a hero. And she had just made it her life’s mission to make him believe it too.  
“Oliver—“ she starts, but the man applies more pressure to the knife pressed against the base of her throat, making her inhale sharply in pain. 

Three arrows slice through the air in a matter of seconds. The man screams. The man is on the floor.  
She doesn’t care. 

“Oliver!”  
Oliver rushes over to her.  
“Felicity. Felicity, are you okay. Oh my god. Felicity, I thought I’d lose you this time. I was gonna lose you this time—“  
“Shhh.. Oliver. I’m here. I’m okay. I’m alive,—Err—but still hanging from a ceiling", she adds.  
“Oh” he says, “right. Let me just—“ He slices the rope and holds her by her waist as she comes down.  
“Is he—Is he dead?” she whispers to him.  
“No. Unconscious, yes. Although He does have two arrows in his shoulder and one in his leg.” He says, a hint of relief in his tired voice.  
He places a hand on her shoulder, careful not to touch the still bleeding cut near her collarbone. “I’m calling Lance and then I’ll take you home okay?”  
She nods. Immediately, she realizes how cold she is. With everything happening she hadn’t noticed how cold it was tonight, especially with her only wearing a thin v-neck and some jeans. Apparently, Oliver noticed her shivering too, because he was already taking off his leather jacket and placing it around her shoulders. She tugged it as close to her as she could. His scent enveloping her. Leather and wood and aftershave. Oliver.  
“Thank you”.  
She thanks him, but for much more than the jacket.  
-  
It only takes him a minute to brief Lance and soon they’re out of the hospital and driving to Felicity’s apartment.  
The drive is quiet and short. Felicity stares out the window. It’s a full moon tonight.  
-

Oliver walks her to her door. But he doesn’t turn around and drive back home, like he usually does. No, he comes inside. For the first time. He stays with her.

When Felicity plops down on her couch, Oliver finally speaks.  
“Felicity, I need to inspect your wounds.” He avoids her eyes. 

He’s blaming himself for some other man’s madness.

“The first aid kit is in my bathroom. First door on the right. Drawer on the bottom left.”  
She stares at his back as he walks down the short hallway and waits until he emerges to tell him  
“It’s not your fault, Oliver.”  
He looks up at her for the first time since they got back. Then looks down at his hands. First aid kit in one hand, towel in the other. He brings his gaze back up to meet hers. Eyes heavy with guilt.  
“Oliver, it’s not your fault. It has never been your fault”, she says, a crack in her voice.  
“Yes it is, Felicity. If I hadn’t brought you into all of this two years ago, you wouldn’t have any scars. Maybe you’d be engaged and pregnant. Living a normal life. Undamaged. Normal. Growing old. Safely, happily.” 

His eyes are so sad. It makes her sad. It’s as if thinks she’s absolutely miserable. Like he isn’t the best thing that ever happened to her. 

“Oliver. It was my choice. It is my choice, every day. I know the risks. Of course I do, I’m not stupid. I know what I got myself into. And I’ve never regretted it for a second. Oliver, how could I regret you? I never would’ve gotten to know you had I not taken up this insane side-job. I never would have felt like I was doing something meaningful. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I have purpose. I’m alive in every sense of the word. I probably would be alive in only one sense of the word had I not met you, Oliver Queen.”  
She felt warm tears roll down her face.  
Oliver brought a hand up to wipe them away before rethinking it and retreating.

“Oliver”, she whispered, “You’re not gonna break me. You can touch me. You can wipe away my tears. I promise I won’t shatter.”  
So he does. He brings his hand back up. And he wipes away her tears. And she’s home.

She shuts her eyes and just feels. Him. His calloused fingers against her flushed damp cheeks. 

She flutters her eyes open and finds his looking into hers. She can see how much he loves her. She needs him to allow himself this. Her. Happiness.

She wants to kiss him. So badly. It’s been four months since that kiss in the hospital and she needs to feel his lips against hers again. She needs him to know how much he means to her. How much she loves him. How much he is capable of being loved. That he is not a monster, but a hero.

So she leans in. Slowly. Unsure. 

“Felicity.” He says, a weak warning. His voice laced with more emotion than she’s ever heard before.  
She sighs.  
Annoyed and very much frustrated she starts-- “No. Don’t ‘Felicity’ me. Stop denying us this. We both want it. Need it. I love you, Oliver. I love you so freaking much it hurts not to touch you. And you make me feel safe. And happy. And I want you. I want you always. You are not a monster, Oliver. You are not Oliver Queen, the billionaire playboy who was stranded on an island for five years. You are so much more, Oliver. You are everything. And you deserve so much more than you allow yourself to have.” 

Breathless, she realizes she just told him she loved him. For the first time. She has allowed herself to say those words to him, knowing there’s a chance he’ll dismiss it and they’ll just pretend it didn’t happen for the next four months. 

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks- “You love me?”

Unbelievable. Does he not understand English or something. Should she say it in Russian? 

“Yes”, she huffs, “I love you. A lot. More than a lot. A whole lot very much lots—“  
Before she can continue her rambling, his lips are on hers and there’s just him. Only him. All of him.


End file.
